The Key to Freedom
by Copper's Mama
Summary: Ames-centric. A look back on what Ames's foster days might have been like, and what led her to be the person she is. M for violence and language. Please read and review!


_An Ames fic. _

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_Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Human Target. _

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_A/N: I've been meaning to write this one for a while, but I've been getting distracted by other fandoms, and loads of schoolwork. _

_Oddly enough, I got back into writing for this fandom after I was informed that my reviewers were being harassed. I do so hope that doesn't happen again, it's quite demeaning. _

_This is sort of a flashback fic, as it takes place when Ames is seven, and in foster care. _

_Side-note: I know from first-hand experience that not all foster homes are as bad as society makes them out to be. Some foster parents are wonderful, and care for children because they truly love them, and want them to have the best life they can have. This fic, however, deals with the other side of the spectrum. _

_Forewarning: this deals with physical and emotional abuse. _

_I'm not sure whether "Ames" is her first or last name, so for the purposes of this story, her name will be Ames Anderson. If she has a different last name, we'll just pretend that she changes it when she gets out of foster care. _

_Alrighty, here we go. I hope you guys like this one, I know I'll love writing it. _

_As always, please read and review, I live for feedback! _

_..._

She honestly couldn't explain why the closet seemed like the perfect place to hide, but there she was, cowering in the dark corner. Afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, she sat there with her knees pulled tightly against her chest, trying not to make the slightest sound. _He_ was drunk again, and _she_ was out spending the money that was supposed to go towards clothing and food for little Ames Anderson. The other boy in the house was at a sleepover with his friends. He was lucky. He was missing tonight's game of cat and mouse.

Ames hated being the mouse. When she became a grown-up, she promised that she would never set so much as a single mouse trap. In fact, she would build little wooden houses for the mice out of twigs or popsicle sticks, and give them little bits of cheese. She would be nice to all the mice, she promised. If only -

Her thoughts were interrupted by the light in the bedroom flicking on. Seven-year old Ames brought a hand up to her mouth, settling it over her lips and forcing herself not to make a sound.

Maybe he would give up. Maybe he would take a look around the room, see that she wasn't there, and just go lie down and drink off his latest alcohol-induced temper. Maybe, just this once, he would let her be. Ames closed her eyes and prayed that he would leave her alone.

Her hopes were dashed as the closet door flew open.

"What the hell you do think you're doing, you miserable piece of trash?" he hollered at her, bending down to grab hold of her arm. His fingers wrapped around her frail arm like a vice, holding her tightly and not letting go until he had hauled her to her feet.

Trembling, she stared fearfully into his eyes. "I'm s-sorry," she choked out.

"No, you're not," he snarled at her, pulling her roughly to him until she was an inch from his face.

The heavy scent of alcohol coming off his breath filled her lungs with every shaky breath, causing Ames to sway and cough. Her stomach churned at the foul odor, wanting to get as far away as possible.

Glaring into her innocent eyes, her foster father continued his previous statement, "But you will be."

Ames shook her head from side to side, tears spilling quickly from her eyes. "Please, don't - "

"Shut up!" he hollered, bringing his meaty fist about to clobber it across her face. "You're gonna get yourself locked in this room until tomorrow night! No breakfast, no lunch, no supper, no bathroom! One of these days you're gonna learn to be a good girl!"

"I am a good girl!" Ames sobbed, bringing a hand to her face where he'd struck her. It stung and throbbed, and she knew she'd have a bruise. Darker than the one that was already forming on her arm, where his hand had nearly squeezed the life out of her.

"No, you aren't!" he spat back, moving towards the bed and pulling her with him. "You come in here and hide in the closet, knowing full well that I'm looking for you. Nice girls don't hide from Daddy!" He pulled her over his lap, holding down her squirming body with one heavy arm, while his other hand came swinging down on her bottom.

Ames cried out in pain, wishing for it all to stop. "You're not my Daddy!" she screamed. She wanted her real daddy; she wanted him to not be dead anymore, so that she could go back to him, and live in their house, and play with her toys, and be safe and loved. She wanted to be as far away from this "family" as she possibly could.

"You filthy little liar!" he yelled at her, raining down more hard smacks on her backside.

Ames whimpered and whined through each slap, jumping on his lap and trying to get away. Her hands clawed madly at him, trying to get free, but he was too strong. She knew, though, that he carried the key to her room in his back pocket. He liked to lock her in there when she was being "bad" ... sometimes he wouldn't let her out for a whole day. Clenching her young teeth against the pain of the assault on her bottom, Ames slipped her small hand into his pocket. With all the bouncing around that was going on, she managed to catch the pocket when it wasn't squished against the mattress. Her entire body filled with a brief moment of triumph when her fingers came back out holding the key, but her elation was short-lived.

The spanking continued for another minute before he was done. He threw her roughly to the ground, standing up from the bed and pacing about.

Ames looked at the open door, thinking of making a break for it. If she could just get away from him long enough to escape, it would all be over.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked her in an eerily soft voice.

Ames knew the real trouble was coming now. It always got worse when he got quiet.

"Somehow, I've got to get it through your head that when I say to 'stay', that's what you do," he informed her, sliding his belt out of it's buckle and removing it from his trousers. "When I say 'don't hide', you don't hide from me. One way or another, you're gonna learn."

He began advancing on her, slapping the belt in his experienced hand.

Blinded by fear and desperation, Ames flew at him, jumping high and assaulting him with her fisted hands. She didn't expect the blows to hurt him, but once she got a decent hold, she opened her jaws wide and closed her teeth on his neck. Hard.

He screamed like an animal being beaten, and fell backwards towards the hard floor. When his body collided with the side of the bed, Ames let go, pushing herself away from him.

She watched him grope his neck in pain, laying on his side after tumbling off the edge of the bed.

"You bitch!" he roared at her, attempting to get to his feet. His hand came away red and wet, showing that she'd drawn blood by her bite.

Ames scampered for the door immediately, not giving another thought for the consequences. She opened her fist, revealing the captured key as she reached the lock. She spared one final glance for him as she began to shut the door, and the look on his face was one of confused shock. He seemed to be trying to figure out how she'd gotten the key away from him.

Ames slammed the door closed, fumbling with the key momentarily before shoving it into the lock. Before he could thrust the door open again, Ames turned the key, hearing the lock click into place.

She couldn't believe it ... she'd gotten away.

"You open this door right now!" he hollered through the door, his hands thumping and pounding against the wood.

Ames pulled the key back out of the lock, stepping away from the door.

"Let me out right now, or I'll make you wish you'd never been born!" he threatened.

She sobbed fearfully, looking down at the key in her hands. Maybe she should let him out ... he might go easier on her if he didn't have to break the door down to get her.

He shouted more threats at her through the door, and she quickly pushed the thought away. No ... she couldn't let him out. She needed to get as far away from him as possible.

There was an older lady a few houses down who'd been nice to her before, maybe she would help her.

Ames ran for the front door, sliding on her shoes and jacket. She didn't want to risk grabbing anything else from the house, she just had to get out of there. She had a momentary panic that her foster mother would pull up just as she was leaving, but when she looked out at the driveway, it was clear.

The wood on her bedroom door sounded like it was starting to splinter.

Ames threw caution to the wind, bolting out the front door and running down the driveway. She crossed the street, thoughtlessly not looking for cars, and ran for the house where the old lady lived. When she got there, she pounded on the front door, glancing back at the house she'd run from. "Please, please, _please_ be home!" Ames cried, ringing the bell and pounding on the door some more.

Finally, the light on the front porch came on, and a second later the door was opened.

"Ames? Ames Anderson? Is that you, Sweetie?" Old Lady Keller asked her.

Ames nodded, unable to stop the fresh wave of tears that fell from her eyes.

"Oh, Honey, what's wrong?" the older woman asked her, taking in her sorrowful appearance. "Are you ... is that a bruise on your cheek?"

Ames choked out an explanation, asking if she could come in. Anything to stay away from that "evil man".

Old Lady Keller ushered her inside immediately, sparing a look for the house across the street before closing and locking the door. She began pouring a mug of hot chocolate as she dialed 9-1-1, looking down at the scared little girl in her kitchen.

Ames sat at the table, afraid to move. Her mind was telling her that it was all a dream - she hadn't really escaped, she'd only passed out while he was hitting her, and her mind was playing tricks on her. Opening her hands, Ames stared at the key that she'd stolen from him. It was faded and rusting, and small enough to hide in the palm of her hand. It was perfect.

Old Lady Keller placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, setting down a mug in front of her.

How long had she been there? Was she really there? Did she really get away?

"Everything's going to be okay, Sweetie. You're safe now," she promised.

Ames didn't care that her hot chocolate was getting cold, or that police officers and social workers were on there way to bring her to a new home. Her only focus was on that key. For the last two months, she'd been a victim in that house. She'd been beaten and picked on, locked up and starved, ridiculed and tormented. But everything was different, now. She literally held the key to her freedom in her hands, and it felt good knowing that she'd taken it away from him. It felt even better to know that she'd done it without him realizing it.

It was a powerful feeling. At the age of seven, feeling powerful was something new to her. New, and intoxicating. She didn't know how such a grand feeling could come from something so small and seemingly unimportant, but she didn't care. She just wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as she could.

The police came and arrested the man, and questioned the wife when she finally arrived home. The social workers asked her if there was anything of hers that she wanted them to get from the house before they left for her new home.

Ames shook her head. She had everything that she needed.

The social worker that held her hand looked at her sadly, thinking that she had no real possessions in the house to go back to, that all she needed were the clothes on her back.

She was wrong. The only thing that she truly needed was the key clasped tightly in her other hand, fueling her emotional high. As long as she had that key - that _power_ - she knew she would be okay.

...

_The end. _

_Well, what did you guys think of this one? _

_Like it, hate it? _

_Reviews are appreciated, flame if you must, but constructive criticism is much more useful. _

_Until next time ...! _


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